


Roommates

by SnowSlayer



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, There's no explicit sex although Francis is a sex worker and references his job
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowSlayer/pseuds/SnowSlayer
Summary: The agreement was strictly platonic. Francis was renting a one bedroom apartment and could use the extra money, and Scaramouche is always looking to expand his network of safe places in different towns when he needed a place to stay. The problem is that one is attracted to the other and the other is still trying to figure out what he wants in life now that he can make his own decisions.
Relationships: franmouche, scaramouche/francis
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

There was only a vague concern at the key. It was far too early for more work, so he paid it no mind. The sound of metal caught his attention. It just meant he probably fucked up again or someone complained and he willed himself to take advantage of every last second of rest he could get before another round of punishment was forced on him.

“Rise and shine, babe!” At once, his eyes shot open as it all clicked in place. He was at his own residency and there was no one to dish out punishment. Kicking out, he struck the figure standing before the couch. He let loose a punch before his wrist was restrained and he came to his senses.

“Is this how you treat your company, babe?” The laugh above him drowned out his initial apology as his arm was released. He pulled the ruffled dress a little lower down his legs since he had exposed himself, trying to hide the fluids he had not completely cleaned out of himself yet.

“I’m sorry. I’m not used to guests,” he muttered to the floor as he sat up.

“As per our contract, you did say I could drop in anytime, babe,” Scaramouche reminded him of their deal. He had. It was just so strange to have someone over at all since the first four years had been so quiet. “Anyway, figured I’d stop by since I’m just a town over. You look like shit,” he added, shoving the bowl of warm oil into his hands.

“Thanks.” It was almost a surprise that the warning sensors had not woken him up considering how low on fuel he had been. He supposed it had just been too many years of ignoring it for it to matter anymore. Plus, he was just so tired. He had only meant to rest for a few minutes on the couch before he had evidently passed out for five hours.

“Just calling the shots as I see them, babe,” Scaramouche teased, knowing damn well that Francis had been referring to the … dinner? Breakfast? The first meal he had had since the previous afternoon. Scaramouche pulled out the single chair from the sad excuse of a dining room table (it was hardly big enough to even be considered an end table) and sat across from him. Francis pressed his knees together and crossed his ankles out of habit. He was less afraid of Scaramouche doing anything and more embarrassed at how much left by the clients was actually still in him and now soiling the lingerie. Scaramouche had been over enough times, even when he was unresponsive from a long night, that if he had wanted to do anything, he would have done so already. Even the couple of times Francis had mentioned doing something consensual (he had to at least offer considering the lengths Scaramouche had gone through to get him out of a client deal gone bad the one time), Scaramouche had merely shrugged. Francis had decided he was not into sex bots like himself, despite Scaramouche telling him he was attracted to him, although that was a whole other issue.

Not that he would blame him. Francis’ new employer was careful to keep him malware free. He was diligent enough, thankfully a lot less invasive than his creator. Still, it was meant he was shareware, as the other bots liked to call him, and generally less attractive.

“Late night, babe?”

“Late morning,” Francis sighed. “Didn’t get in until the sun came up, so I must have been an … interesting sight for everyone heading to their day jobs.” Scaramouche whistled in sympathy.

“Lotta sleepless clients, babe?”

“Bachelor party. A big, rich, _erotic_ bachelor party.” Scaramouche winced at that. Francis had told him how much worse the term meant. _Horny_ clients were one thing, and it usually meant something fast, and rough, but they burned themselves out quickly. The erotic ones had the usually painful tastes and the stamina to rival Francis’ own. _Eccentric_ was the worst, although no one quite compared to his creator.

“There was other entertainment, but … well…” Scaramouche nodded as he trailed off. _No one like him_.

“I’d have gotten takeout if I had known you didn’t have anything worth eating, babe,” Scaramouche smirked as he eyed the half full bowl.

“Non, it’s fine. I’m just making sure I do not overwhelm my system.” They dropped into silence as he picked up his pace.

“So I’m off today, babe. We should hit the town, kick back and have some fun! After a shower and a couple more hours of sleep though. If I weren’t here to keep you entertained, you’d fall asleep on your feet!”

“They wanted to get all of their money’s worth out of me,” Francis shrugged. “They had to use every opening, and I mean _every_ opening.” He grinned at the last part. It always amused him how much it would make Scaramouche squirm with even the most minute details. Scaramouche could go on and on about how he destroyed and killed his targets without missing a beat, yet anything other than a vanilla encounter could get under his plates.

“I don’t want to hear it, babe!” he shuttered, snatching the empty bowl out of Francis’ hands.

“Aw, but the sounding was the most mundane thing they did,” Francis teased back.

“ _Go_ shower, babe! Ugh! I got a new set of sheets, so I’m going to go change those.” Francis chuckled and made his way to his feet with a groan. It had been too long a night, although his bank account was much better off for it.

He tried not to shower too long since he had guests. That, and he was not sure how long his legs would hold him up as he could feel them buckling every now and then. It probably meant he was due for some maintenance again. That was one thing his creator had monitored closely that he missed. As long as he had not done anything to deserve being injured, his body was kept in pristine condition. Granted, it was only back that way after he had suffered long enough for his creator to try and beat a better behavior into him.

It had hardly worked, he mused, taking pains to clean his hair better than usual since Scaramouche liked to brush it out for him. He felt like he was doing so much better now. There were far fewer justified complaints and Francis always had a chance to refute them. Sure, he messed up every now and then, yet the worst was that he was docked some pay. It was better, even if he hated the industry.

He only dressed in a loose pair of pants when he finished. Typically he would have thrown on a shirt to sleep in because he hated having to look at his own body. It was for Scaramouche, since the bot had been caught staring at his chest on more than one occasion when he was changing or had not yet put on something less revealing this his work clothes. Considering how much he was chipping into rent when he was so rarely there, it felt like the least he could do.

“They’re _silk_ so you have to _handwash_ them, babe,” Scaramouche jabbed a finger at his chest, careful to not quite touch him since he had not asked for consent.

“And if I don’t?” Francis grinned, leaning forward to create the contact.

“You’ll ruin them, babe,” Scaramouche shrugged before letting the sinister smirk cross his own face. “And then I’ll _have_ to get you another set, and I know how much you hate gifts.”

“So then this set is one you got for yourself, oui?”

“Hm?” The stare had been trained on his chest a little too long and he finally pulled his finger away. “Ah, yes! These are _mine_ , babe, but I have to _store_ _them_ _here_ because they don’t fit the other beds where I stay and you have to use them, at least every now and then, because, you know, it’s not good to fold them up and leave them in the closet all the time. Just handwash them, okay?”

“I suppose that can be arranged,” Francis conceded. He let Scaramouche slide under the new sheets and the weighted blanket – also something Scaramouche was _storing_ here for the last six months – before joining him. He settled into Scaramouche’s arms. The old paranoia crept in for a bit before he swallowed it down. Scaramouche’s arms were comfortably wrapped around his shoulder and back. They would never slide lower than that.

“When do you want to go out?” Francis murmured into Scaramouche’s chest. He could already feel his processors slowing now that the fake sense of danger had passed.

“Once you get enough rest, babe. It’s enjoyable enough having you sleep in my arms.”

“Mm, but I could sleep until I have to get ready for work,” he chuckled softly before curling closer. “Wake me in four hours. I promise I won’t pass out on you then unless you had something really intense planned.” He rolled his hips against Scaramouche’s leg to make his point before getting comfortable again.

“Wherever the music takes us, babe!”

* * *

Waking up in Scaramouche’s arms never caused any panic. Waking up in someone’s arms did not happen on the job, period. If he happened to reboot in a session and drop offline for any length of time, that was an unspoken invitation to do whatever the client pleased with his body. It was a rare situation except for big parties, and now that he was coming to again, he realized how much the bachelor party had taken out of him, considering he had rebooted twice in one night. It was almost a miracle he had made it home. Aku knows how he did it.

“You let me oversleep,” Francis mumbled. He had set an alarm for four and half hours in case Scaramouche did not wake him, which had finally roused him.

“Sorry, babe. Must have lost track of time staring at your chest.”

“You can barely see it. I should have modeled for you,” Francis teased, rolling onto his back and arching up to fully show off his upper half.

“Ah, but that would have been an uncomfortable position to sleep in, babe,” Scaramouche grinned, although Francis could tell he was drinking in the sight of him.

“Trust me, I can sleep in _any_ position. It’s all natural for my body.”

“Fair enough. I was enjoying you cuddled up against me, so I have no regrets. Now get back over here so I can brush your hair, babe!” Complying, Francis sat between his legs as he was groomed. He patiently waited for whatever new hairstyle Scaramouche was going to bestow on him. Once they were done, he stripped off his pants without missing a beat as he riffled through his closet for some better daywear. He intentionally took his time, rocking his weight back and forth as he slowly made his decision. Selecting a pair of pants from the two sets he owned and a simple shirt after he had deemed enough time had passed to properly tease the bot on his bed, he began dressing.

“Babe, why do you _always_ insist on buttoning it all the way up? You can leave half of those undone!”

“It just seems … inappropriate to show off that much during the day. People will judge.” It came out quieter than they had been chatting before.

“Oh, as if you were not just standing around in the nude for my enjoyment, babe? Who cares what they think? Fuck them!”

“Well, first of all, it’s usually the other way around,” Francis stated with a smirk as Scaramouche sighed. “Maybe one in a thousand times is that the case.”

“How about two buttons, babe? Please? Just for me?”

“Fine, since you asked so nicely,” Francis undid the top two. “I should double your rent next month for that.”

“And I would gladly pay, babe.” He offered a hand. Francis hesitated a bit before finally going along with it and following him outside. Scaramouche locked up with his own key and began leading the way down the street.

“Thought maybe we should try that new Italian place. Looked pretty nice when I passed it, babe,” Scaramouche.

“I know the one. I was there once before it switched owners.”

“Oh? How was it, babe? Still a restaurant?”

“You don’t want to know,” Francis snorted. “You’ll lose your appetite.” They dropped into silence again. Francis dropped his gaze as people began to stare. The normal catcalls were a bit quieter as onlookers tried to figure out what was going on between him and the assassin. Scaramouche would play into them, happily making intense eye contact or waving back and pretending like he knew them.

“Why do you always insist on holding my hand?” Francis asked after a while.

“Because if I didn’t have some sort of contact, you’d ditch me for the nearest help wanted sigh and try to pick up another five hours of work before your normal job, babe. Besides, _this_ feels disgustingly possessive,” he added, wrapping his arm around Francis’ shoulders in a very clear ‘ _I own this bot’_ fashion Francis was used to with clients that wanted to show off their purchase.

“I suppose that’s true, and _this,_ ” he spun out of the hold, curling one arm around Scaramouche’s elbow and nuzzling into his upper arm. He let his other hand dip into Scaramouche’s coat pocket, searching for whatever was in there before giving his hip a squeeze. “Looks like I know _exactly_ how much money I’m going to milk out of you tonight.”

“If you’re looking for my wallet, it’s in my pants pockets on the other side, babe.” Francis chuckled before readjusting so they were holding hands again. He managed to smirk at a now very confused onlooker who had been staring at the whole dance they had done.

“Sir, this is a respectable establishment and we expect you to keep your entertainment in line,” the host stated to Scaramouche as he eyes drifted over to Francis. At once, Scaramouche’s dagger tip was at his throat.

“If this is such a _respectable establishment_ , then I expect my _friend_ to be treated with as much dignity as I am, babe,” Scaramouche sneered, murder in his eyes. The host stuttered an apology before leading them to a table and rolling away to find someone to wait on them. “Honestly, babe, how do you even put up with this?”

“I don’t exactly carry a weapon to threaten them, although you know what I _could_ do?” he let his own smirk cross his faces. “I’ve had to do it before…”

“I _don’t_ want to know, babe. I’ll trust you can take care of yourself.” They argued over the bill when Francis declared they were splitting, Scaramouche putting up the usual argument of he had picked the place and Francis pushed back.

“Fine, we’ll split and I’ll cover the tip, babe,” he stated with a forced air of dejection, as if they did not reach the same arrangement every single time they went out to eat.

“You’re a handful, you know,” Francis teased.

“ _Me?_ Whatever are you talking about, babe?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I mean all the times you come barging in like a hurricane so _early_ in the morning.”

“You mean at two pm babe?”

“ _Exactly!_ It’s so _early_. And you’re always climbing into bed with me after I finish working for the day,” he added, a little too loudly. He knew they were never coming back together. Scaramouche tended to avoid places once they mistreated either one of them. It was typically Francis getting the blunt of the disrespect, but he knew the taller bot well enough that he would never stop by again. He intentionally failed to add that he always slept better when Scaramouche was holding him.

They dined in near silence after that. It was nearly impossible to see, and Francis had a hard time noticing it himself, although he could spot it with the body language reading he had been taught. Scaramouche was still seething from the earlier comment from the host. He usually did that, too, so Francis paid it no mind. He supposed it was a new experience for Scaramouche still, especially since his status meant he would never suffer that kind of low blow.

“Leave a reasonable tip,” Francis murmured under his breath when they were paying. “It’s not the wait staff’s fault.”

“I know, babe,” he reassured him. “I didn’t particularly care for the food here.” It was the usual complaint, although it was more of the bad taste in his mouth than the actual food. Scaramouche’s mood lightened once they were back outside.

“Where to now, babe?” Francis shrugged. He figured Scaramouche had already made plans as to where he wanted to take them and also trusted him to get them back to the house in time for work. If he was lucky, and he figured he had weighted dice up his sleeve tonight, Scaramouche would escort him to work for the night.

“Wherever the music is leading you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Francis let out a cry of surprise as he stepped out of the washroom.

“I did call, babe. You let it go straight to voicemail.”

“Well, I was in the shower,” Francis protested. He held the towel tied tightly around his waist. He was tempted to drop it and would have done so if he had not sustained so much damage that night. Not that Scaramouche would have minded that in terms of helping him, actually having had his fingers up inside of him to help realign the port before when it probably needed professional work once before. Still, it was something Francis could manage tonight and he did not need an audience.

“Give me a few minutes to change into something more comfortable,” Francis insisted as his roommate rose to join him, arching his back to give Scaramouche a good look. He wished it were lust or at least intrigue in his features. He had never been shy about changing in front of Scaramouche, so Scaramouche knew something was up.

“How bad is it, babe?”

“Oh please, don’t act like I’m made of glass, unless you’re just dying to get _something_ inside of me. If you knew how rough clients …” His grandiose statement tapered off rapidly at the look of growing concern. “It’s not bad. Just a little work and I’ll be good to go. I can take care of it this time.” He shuffled into the single bedroom, shutting out his guest for the time being. Stuffing a sock into his mouth, he set off to work, careful to move slowly so he would not make a sound not absorbed by the gag. There was no sense in making Scaramouche pity him even more. He opted for a shirt when he got dressed only because he was fairly sure Scaramouche had not seen the new scuff marks on his shoulders and back. His hair likely hid most of it.

“All good, babe?” Francis nodded, rolling his eyes a bit to try and keep it lighthearted.

“You worry about me too much,” he gestured towards the bed with a coy look on his face.

“Because I think you don’t worry enough, babe.” He still took the bait, drawing back the covers and settling in.

“Are you kidding? I worry all the time! I worry if my hair looks good, if they can tell I’m just faking it, if I’m squeezing –”

“That’s not what I meant, babe.” Francis opened his mouth before closing it again and nuzzling into the hand that was cupping his cheek.

“I know. I worry about that, too, but I’m okay. Really.”

“Really, babe? Because you were injured the last time I came over _and_ the time before that.”

“Maybe your _timing_ is just bad,” he teased lightly. “It’s not like I come home like this every day. Besides, a panel was just misaligned. It was really nothing.” Scaramouche mumbled an affirmative and the subject was dropped.

“Six hours ought to do it. Despite how bad you think it was, it was a normal night. Three clients, last one just had a lot of energy.” He was wrapped in the embrace warm embrace and drifted off into stasis.

* * *

The hand had slipped down to his lower back, yet still did not feel malicious. Francis squirmed a bit in the embrace. It usually got him a greeting. Fully waking up, he realized Scaramouche was in deep stasis. That was unlike him, as he usually had gotten his sleep while Francis was working, and would at most enter a very light stasis that the movement from Francis would wake him out of.

“And you were being so worried about me,” Francis chuckled softly. He weaseled out of the embrace without waking him, a skill he had perfected over the years, although he took pains to make sure Scaramouche was comfortable in his absence. He ordered delivery from their favorite place since it was easy to pick something out for Scaramouche. He knew they had very different preferences on food quality, although they had compromised at places they could both deal with.

“It’s breakfast in bed!” Francis greeted when their food arrived.

“Breakfast, babe?” He muttered groggily as his processors worked to catch up.

“Sure. It’s the first meal of the day for me. Stick around long enough, and I’ll make you nocturnal, too.”

“It’s hard to hunt bounties in the dark, babe,” he let out a half laugh.

“You’re not feeling well, are you?”

“Mm, no. Getting over a virus, babe. I’m not contagious though,” he added hastily.

“I should hope not! Besides with the contact we have, I’m not really at much risk.”

“That’s good, babe. How much do I owe you for _lunch_?” Francis stuck his tongue out at him before answering.

“Well if you weren’t sleeping all day, you could have paid your half.” Scaramouche leveled him with a playful glare before digging into his meal. Francis was relieved he did not put up an argument, since he really did owe the bot for all the nice things Scaramouche did under the guise of wanting it at Francis’ place for himself.

“So what do you want to do today?” Francis posed.

“Sleep, babe, or at least something easy on the system.”

“And here you are always telling me to go out and do something,” Francis laughed. He softened his expression though. “I do have some ideas. I can help you with a polishing if you’re comfortable with that. Might feel good if your system’s not feeling up to par.”

“I like company when I’m under the weather, babe,” Scaramouche stated in explanation, flopping back down once the containers had been cleared to the bedside table. “I trust you enough not to kill me in my weakened state. And a polishing sounds nice. I can deal with your hands all over me.” It was good to hear the smirk back in his voice and … good that he trusted him? It was the same on his end. He figured Scaramouche was not going to attack or use him without consent. Something about it felt strange now that it was explicitly mutual.

“Then I’ll go pick us up something and we can –”

“I’ll come with you if it’s not far, babe. Besides, can’t make you pay for everything all day.”

“Oh please, you just want to stir up the locals. Or I suppose hold my hand? Does that make you feel better?” Francis chided as he began changing his outfit.

“The latter does a little, babe.” Then he could comply with that. He did have to admit to himself he was a little touch starved on touch that was not meant to hurt him. They picked up polish, and Francis made no fuss when Scaramouche got enough for both of them. He could just pretend he had not noticed the scuffs on his back when Scaramouche would no doubt point them out.

He put on the silk sheets Scaramouche liked the best while the taller bot was showering. The crosshairs in his eyes flicked over to Scaramouche when he joined him in the bedroom.

“How are we doing this, babe? What’s your comfort level?” Francis snorted at the question.

“Don’t act like I don’t see partially or completely nude individuals every day of my life. You can wear as much or as little as you’re comfortable with. I understand if you want to keep something on though.”

“Are you kidding, babe?” Scaramouche asked with a flourish of the towel. He let it fall to the floor as he did a spin. “I am gorgeous! The world could not withstand the sight of me!” Now that Francis thought about it, it was the first time he had seen Scaramouche with no clothes on. He would sometimes take his coat off, but the pants and undershirt usually stayed.

“I suppose you’re handsome … for an assassin.”

“Oh, and what’s that supposed to mean, babe?” Scaramouche grinned as he splayed out on the bed seductively.

“I don’t know … I just … don’t care?” Scaramouche studied him thoughtfully for a long moment. “Sorry, that sounded really rude. Hmm … I’m immune to your charms. How’s that?”

“Makes me feel like I should try harder, babe,” Scaramouche laughed, although he settled comfortably on his back with his hands clasped on his chest.

“Don’t bother. I’m totally immune. Imagine if I was attracted to clients or just random people. That’d be terrible! I can’t even imagine being attracted to someone.”

“Like, at all, babe?” Scaramouche’s eyes were trained on his face as he lifted one of Scaramouche’s feet into his lap to begin polishing. Francis just shrugged. “Because I am attracted to people all of the time.”

“Really? You just … see someone and go ‘Oh, yes, I want to bed them?’”

“I mean … well, not that crudely, but yeah, certain people will catch my eye and spike my processors for a moment, you know?”

“Non. I don’t. It’s a sex bot thing. I don’t think we do that.”

“Is it, or are you just ace, babe? I do vaguely recall you having very terrible perceptions of the industry because you weren’t really told things, like the fact that there are certain laws protecting you.” Scaramouche arched one eye as Francis began working on the next foot.

“I … don’t know. But really, you’re just … attracted to strangers? Just like that?” Scaramouche laughed now, settling back.

“Yeah, just like that. I’m pansexual. I’m only going to act on it if I really like the person though. I think you’re ace. Not that you have to be or use that label if it doesn’t fit you. It just sounds like it. Or maybe your demisexual and haven’t known someone long enough to realize your attracted.”

“I don’t feel anything. Ever. I’ve never felt anything and let me tell you: I have seen _a lot_ of people. I can tell you some looked nicer than others.”

“Do you rank them, babe?” Scaramouche snorted as Francis worked up his leg. When he nodded, Scaramouche added, “Where do I rank on the list?”

“Well you’re not a client, so I can’t rank you,” Francis grinned. He turned his attention to his work now that he was working on the thigh. None of this had felt sexual and he really just wanted to keep it that way.

“You can touch my hip plate, babe,” Scaramouche added. “I do like a nice, even polish.” Francis swallowed down his retort about Scaramouche already fingering him. The mood was finally light after the discussion before they slept and he wanted to keep it that way.

“If I _had_ to rank you, you’d probably be in the top fifty.” The side smirk was back, although he had switched to the other leg. He was not quite ready to go up further.

“Top fifty?! With this body, babe?” Still, they were both laughing. It was only to get a rise out of Scaramouche after all.

“Definitely top ten,” Francis amended. “Plus you get bonus points for being so nice.”

“So your definition of attractiveness includes personality traits, babe?”

“Well it’s hard to rank someone high when they’ve got me pinned against the wall and calling me all sorts of nasty names.” Francis was trying not to kick himself as it dropped into silence. Especially now that he had no choice but to venture into uncharted territory.

“Sorry, I guess … that was too much.”

“No, no, babe I see your point. It’s a boost to my ego that you rank me so high,” Scaramouche smiled up at him. There was a soft noise from Scaramouche as the cloth grazed over the port, yet Francis kept working. A bit of tension left his shoulders when he could finally start on Scaramouche’s abdomen. They were quiet again as Francis made his way down Scaramouche’s arms. The taller bot had shut off his eyes for the time being, basking in the attention. Francis was silent as he did his own research.

“Alright, roll over.” Scaramouche blinked his eyes back on and let them focus before compiling. “You doing okay?”

“Sure, babe. I’ve got some good company. What more could I ask for?”

“ A lot,” Francis tried to chuckle. It felt too strained, now that his mind was wandering.

“Question is: are you okay, babe?”  
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”   
“Dunno babe, but you don’t sound okay.”

“I think I am ace. I looked it up,” Francis admitted, polishing small circles on Scaramouche’s back. “A sex-neutral ace because as much as I show off to you, I really don’t care.”

“And that’s okay, babe. It’s just who you are!”

“Yeah, but … you’d think I’d know by now. It’s been this way a long time.” That was the half of it. He could not even begin to think about addressing the elephant in the room.

“It’s all good, babe. People figure themselves out at different times. You were probably taught it was just industry standard, right? But that’s not really what’s bothering you.”

“Sometimes I hate that you’re hearing is so good,” Francis teased to buy himself more time.

“Can’t help that I’m a music bot by nature, babe! And I told you before and I’ll tell you again: we can keep this platonic, babe. Just because I’m attracted and like you doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it mean the same thing?” He was deflecting, and hating himself for it.

“Not necessarily, babe. I’m attracted to you sexually and I like you romantically. I’m pan in both categories, but you don’t have to be the same in each.”

“Great, so now there’s two categories I have to figure out.” His throat was so tight it was hard to believe he was able to keep his voice so calm.

“If you want to, babe. It’s not the best way, but you can think of the sexual attraction part as wanting in my pants. That’s how I think about it, although I also want you in my pants rather than the other way around. I’m flexible, that’s just the preference. The romantic part is more of the relationship side of things, babe. Well, the romantic part of the relationship.” They were pitched into silence again.

“And you can also tell me to shut my pie hole and that all of this is none of my business and I can do the polishing myself, babe,” Scaramouche added gently.

“Non, I’m still on your back and it will be too hard for you to reach it.” Scaramouche let out a quiet laugh. Still, he let the subject drop and the tension seemed to lift a bit.

“Do I get to return the favor for you, babe? This has been just what I needed to get my spirits up a little.” Scaramouche grinned as Francis finished the back of his legs.

“Only if you promise not to get distracted by my chest and do nothing except admire it,” Francis teased. He hesitated a moment before taking his shirt off. As predicted, Scaramouche pointed out the scuff marks immediately as he was tying back Francis’ hair.

“I can hardly feel them,” Francis insisted.

“But you _can_ feel them, babe. That’s the issue! We can go and get these buffed out and repaired!”

“I will take care of it later. Besides, we decided to stay in today.”

“Well I’m starting to regret that. I still think you should get out more, make some more friends, and just have fun, babe!” Francis hummed, moving to lie down. It felt safter to be face down now that the marks were addressed. That, and he just needed a moment to look at nothing but the clean sheets. It all felt platonic, which, now that Francis was thinking about it, probably should not be the case. He knew Scaramouche was probably right about making more friends. He really had no idea where the line was for at platonic and something more. He had not made a lot of friends once he left and had no friends when he was still working under his creator. He probably would have learned a lot more if he had been given the chance, so his creator made sure he was always alone and kept in the dark about the industry … and sometimes literally kept in the dark. Clients were not there to talk, so he never got any information from them.

The thought that kept bubbling to the surface was what he had originally said to Scaramouche’s asking about a relationship: he was not good enough for Scaramouche and it would not work. He had been easily taught the social hierarchy when he was finally free to learn things. Hell, he had known it working under his creator. He was subpar. He was not meant to be with anyone long term unless it was a very rich client with far too much money to blow. Scaramouche was a top ranked assassin. He had Aku’s favor. And despite his teasing, he did look nice. He had everything as far as Francis was concerned and should not be settling.

So why not just tell him no? Why keep teasing him with the possibility? He swallowed down the foul oil in his throat as Scaramouche gently coaxed him to roll onto his back. All he could ever tell him was that he did not know. At least Scaramouche had promised that if he thought about dating someone else, he would give Francis a last chance. It felt nice to know or at least think he was not holding Scaramouche back. He had no idea if that was the case. He splayed out a bit as Scaramouche moved up the front of his legs, catching a smile as Scaramouche’s eyes lingered too long over his chest again.

“Should I stop doing this?” he asked sincerely, letting himself lie flat on the bed.

“You are the landlord, babe. It’s your place so you can do whatever you want.”

“As landlord, I do not want to hurt you.” Scaramouche smiled softly as he worked at the inner thigh.

“You’re not. How about I put it this way: I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, babe, if you’re not ready or you don’t want it. How’s that sound, babe?”

“I … okay. Oui. You are …”

“In need of permission to go any further, babe.” Francis rolled his eyes and spread his legs a little further apart with a smirk.

“As if I haven’t had hands all over me every day of my life. But for you: you have my explicit permission to touch me however you like while you polish me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

In the distress of the moment, when he realized he could not get himself home, he had reached out to Scaramouche. This was probably why he needed more local friends, he berated himself as Scaramouche said he could get there in an hour. Of course he had told him no rush. He was probably fine for a few more hours. He was not losing oil _that fast_ and he had been abandoned on the side of the road in more pain before. Granted he was also being looked for by his creator’s cronies and did not have to drag his body back home.

There was murder in Scaramouche’s eyes as he scanned the area. They softened when they met Francis’, although the glance over his body was not for his own amusement tonight.

“It’s just my leg,” Francis gasped weakly. He had taken pains to hide the other evidence, but there was not much he could do with the gash and broken joint. “Just someone on a power kick.”

“Let’s get you to the hospital, babe.”

“Non.”

“No?” The confusion was so bright in his eyes. “Babe, you’re hurt. You can’t just put a temporary plate on it and call it a day.”

“I could try,” Francis whimpered as Scaramouche tried to find the best way to pick him up.

“You need real help this time, babe.”

“Please, non! I just want to go home!” That’s how it always went. He would go home, assess the damage and then go to a clinic if absolutely necessary. A shady clinic in Scaramouche’s words, yet if it got the job done and saved him money, he did not care.

“It’s not going to heal by itself, babe!” Scaramouche stated sternly. Francis flinched, now in his arms. “Please, babe, you need help. Are you … You’re scared!”

“I don’t want to go,” Francis sobbed, doing all he could to keep the oil from bubbling over his lips. “I can’t. Please don’t make me!”

“Listen, babe, if it’s a matter of money, don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of it.

“Non, non it’s not that … I just … I can’t. I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want to die!” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight out of the hold now. Scaramouche held him tight.

“They won’t hurt you, babe! And I’ll be right there, the whole time, I promise.” Francis sobbed again, yet did not have the energy to escape the grasp. How could he hope to overcome an assassin anyway? He had faded before they arrived, the panic coursing through his processors causing the oil flow to never slow. They had to sedate after the repairs, although it was a hazy memory when he woke strapped down to the table. He flailed again until a comforting hand was on his cheek.

“I’m okay?”

“I thought you were just a little scared, babe. I didn’t know it was that bad.” The smile was soft. It could be a joke, it could be comfort, and somehow was both at the same time. Something was wrong though. Francis squinted at the damaged chin plate.

“They told me you would be weak and groggy and out of it when you came to earlier, babe, since you lost way too much oil and they had to do an emergency transfusion of coolant. They were wrong. It’s a good thing we are in the hospital, because you sucker punched me so hard you broke my jaw.” Francis eyes widened in terror.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know! I –”

“It’s okay, babe! I just know better to get too close when you wake up. Probably should have known that from before… Now I know for sure, and it’s all fixed up. I’ll swing by a body shop later and make sure I’m looking good as new!”

“I’m so sorry. I’ve had a lot of bad experiences with doctors,” he murmured shamefully, unable to meet his eye.

“At the hos – oh, _oh_ I see, babe.”

“And the only other time I was brought was when I was in a bad place. I was … close to dying. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright, babe!” Scaramouche stroked along his cheek a few more times before fiddling with the straps on the table to free Francis. “Take it easy though. The circuits in your leg need to repair.”

“He also warned me about hospitals,” Francis muttered. “Always wanted to do the repairs himself.” Finished with the straps, Scaramouche sat at his side again, running his fingers delicately through his hair.

“Are you doing okay, babe?” Francis nodded. “I’ll still try to get you home soon. It’s always nicer to recover there if possible!”

* * *

“Oh, shit, babe!” Scaramouche gasped, his eyes flickering in delight. Francis laughed, his fingers sending the light charge through the base of Scaramouche’s cranium as he held his head.

“Mm and we haven’t even got to the happy ending yet,” he purred. It was not actually on the agenda.

“I would ~ahh~ just offline, babe. Immediately.”

“Not just reboot? Well that’s not fun. How would I tease you about how needy you sound when I do this?” He reached under Scaramouche’s shoulders to get to the base of his neck and slowly dragged his fingers up his neck to the base of his cranium again. He gave it a gentle pull to help stretch out the wires. Scaramouche’s body shuttered in ecstasy before relaxing back into the bed.

“I can’t believe you, the master of self-care, haven’t gotten a massage before,” Francis chuckled after another few minutes of rubbing along the seams. Francis had started on his legs, complaining about how it would take forever since they were so long. And he had spent a long time on them, just to make sure Scaramouche was nice and relaxed as he made it up to his neck. He knew it was going to be the most sensitive area considering how much of Scaramouche’s power was in his throat and voice box.

“Well I don’t like just _anyone_ touching my neck, babe,” Scaramouche insisted. A trickle of oral lube trailed down one corner of his mouth. Francis kept his fingers moving slowly, even as his processors wanted to freeze up.

“Then I’m honored you don’t mind my hands all over you. Roll back over so I can really get to the back of it.” Scaramouche sheepishly wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand before moving so that he was facedown on the bed again. Running his hands along the shoulders, Francis lightly charged his fingertips again. He rubbed across the upper back before letting his thumbs trace the junction. At the touch, he felt Scaramouche jolt a bit below him before relaxing into the touch.

“You’re really good at this, babe,” Scaramouche exclaimed into the sheets. “Why don’t you look into getting certified and switch fields? I know you hate your current job.”

“Because it’s all the same,” Francis sighed, paying close attention to the seams. “I just get to touch them beforehand. I don’t have the right finger type for pure massage sessions.”

“You coulda fooled me, babe”

“It’s amusing that you have such good tastes in every other aspect of your life and such low standards for this,” Francis chuckled. His thumbs traced the joint on the underside of the cranium to let Scaramouche know he was incorporating a head massage next. “The fingers are supposed to be narrower and tapered to really get into the joints. The good ones will incorporate a bit of deep wire work on the stressed wires.”

“Can’t say I’d really want wire play mixed in with this, babe.”

“It’s different. Less sexual and more … medical? It’s therapeutic at least. It’s nice.”

“Seems like you’re an expert, babe,” Scaramouche murmured before letting out another soft moan as Francis worked around his jaw joint.

“Non. Just had some work done before under my creator’s supervision. Mostly to work out some leg and hip issues, but it was pleasant. Better than what he usually did to me.” Francis found himself trailing off, not wanting to dampen the mood any further.

“You know, babe,” Scaramouche murmured against the top of his head once Francis finished working on him and they had climbed under the covers, “You don’t _have_ to only do what you were built for. I was built for music and now I’m a top ranked assassin!” Francis was silent. He knew he had no other skills, and even if he did, he had no idea what he would even want to do. There was little in terms of a clear picture of his future. He kept saving the portion Scaramouche was paying for rent and building up his emergency fund and savings. There was just no plan for the savings.

“Just think about it, babe. You really can do whatever you want.”


End file.
